


Hurricane Drunk

by immaculateshadows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ...literally, Cute boys, Louis is Dramatic(TM), Louis is too drunk to think straight, M/M, Niall is an Irish miracle who Knows, Some light flirting happens, This is super light and fluffy, and also drunk, nothing really happens honestly, oh yeah, they're in uni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immaculateshadows/pseuds/immaculateshadows
Summary: In true Niall fashion, and because life hates Louis with a passion and circumstance just loves to shit on him, Niall had found a bird on his first trip to the bar and has been chatting her up ever since. It’s been three hours. And sure, maybe Louis is feeling a little sorry for himself, but he’s entitled. Finals week is nearing and he’s really starting to feel the pressure of a semester spent slacking off and leaving everything to the last minute. There is something to be said for taking opportunities as they come, but if he’d had any intention of pulling tonight he’d be sorely disappointed. Nobody has caught his eye at any point in the night and he honestly can’t be bothered to settle. Good thing he only came for Niall. Right.





	Hurricane Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> This was lying around my computer in a folder somewhere, apparently written in december of 2016. This doesn't matter as it's really just a light drabble, there is no context included or necessary. However, I just found it again and since I think it's pretty cute I figured I'd throw it on here. 
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think (or what you think it is that Niall Knows - the hints are there)!

The bass is intense to the point of physical presence. It thrums in Louis’ chest and throat like a second heartbeat, inescapable and rabbit-quick. He is unsure if the floor is vibrating or if it’s just his legs. _Ready for liftoff_ , he thinks inanely and decides now might be a good time to switch to plain water. Getting smashed wasn’t in the plans, and doing it all alone in the corner of this shitty club has got to be some sort of new low. It’s not like this is the last place he wants to be. Well actually – it ranks pretty damn low on his hypothetical list at the moment, but. He’s only here for moral support, is the thing. He’d come along because Niall was feeling his dry spell particularly poignantly and wouldn’t stand for spending another weekend “with my right hand, it’s gonna expect a proposal at this rate, Tommo.” (Which, well. Thanks for that mental image, Niall. No really.)

In true Niall fashion, and because life hates Louis with a passion and circumstance just loves to shit on him, Niall had found a bird on his first trip to the bar and has been chatting her up ever since. It’s been three hours. And sure, maybe Louis is feeling a little sorry for himself, but he’s _entitled._ Finals week is nearing and he’s really starting to feel the pressure of a semester spent slacking off and leaving everything to the last minute. There is something to be said for taking opportunities as they come, but if he’d had any intention of pulling tonight he’d be sorely disappointed. Nobody has caught his eye at any point in the night and he honestly can’t be bothered to settle. Good thing he only came for Niall. Right.

As Louis is debating finally disturbing the two lovebirds at the bar and making a sad retreat, his gaze catches on a group of people moving through the crowds. It’s not the people themselves that keep his attention, but rather someone he notices behind the group. There is this insanely fit, curly lad stood leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Louis would swear on his mum’s life the stranger wasn’t there a minute ago when he last looked around the room (despondently, because he is nothing if not a consummate drama major), but here now is the opportunity he’s been waiting for. The bloke, who appears to be entirely consumed in whatever happening on his cellphone screen currently, will serve nicely as a distraction. _Very_ nicely. Louis may or may not be extremely partial to the half-buttoned shirt thing the fit stranger has going on, even if the ensemble is slightly hipster and might have rather a large change of offending his delicate sensibilities were he sober. But he’s not. Sober, that is. Which makes this whole starting a conversation with an attractive stranger thing so much easier, in Louis’ expert opinion.

He slowly starts to make his way across the room, trying to avoid bumping into people and jostling what’s left of the pint in his hand – it wouldn’t be the first time he’s been doused in beer and it certainly wouldn’t have been the last – and the closer he gets, the more intrigued he becomes. Curly has got a rather nice jawline, clean-shaven, and there is the hint of ink peeking out of the gaping collar of his shirt. He’s tall and slightly gangly, slumped as he is on the wall, but his hair is very pretty and shiny and Louis really wants to touch it. What. Rather than dwell on this slightly disturbing development, he switches focus to the boy’s face. He’s around Louis’ own age, probably in uni, and his brows are furrowed cutely as he stares intently at his phone. The wall he’s leaning against is probably not too sanitary, actually.

“That wall you’re leaning against doesn’t look particularly sanitary, mate.” And. Well. That was maybe not the kind of smooth opening Louis had been going for, but it was true enough, and Curly seems to have noticed his presence at least, which is good. Who needs lines anyway? Not Louis, that’s for sure. Using a cheesy line really just takes all the fun out of pulling. Not that Louis is trying to pull, he’s just making conversation. ‘Cause he’s bored. Right.

“…is particularly sanitary, I think.” He’s shaken out of his reverie when he realizes the curly lad is talking to him, and he hasn’t caught a word. Through the sudden fog in his brain he manages to catch the way the stranger’s words come out slow and sweet like sticky molasses, sounding like a lot of thought is put behind every word before it leaves this boy’s mouth. On anyone else Louis might have found something like that irritating, but for some reason on Curly it just adds to the charm. And right, he doesn’t know this boy’s name. He might have to get on that ASAP. But first, he should probably ask him to repeat what he said just now. One sentence in and he’s already made an arse of himself. Woe, thy name is Louis.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Didn’t quite catch what you said there, Curly.” The stranger just looks at him with bright eyes, seeming somewhat surprised, but if he objects to the instant nickname he doesn’t show it. Instead he simply repeats what he apparently said before, looking slightly amused.

“I said that no inch of this place is particularly sanitary, but my feet were tired so I had to make do.” He’s looking at Louis intensely, and from up close his eyes are extremely green.

“A likely story, I’m sure,” Louis says with feigned disbelief, adding “You’re just afraid to dance, admit it. Hiding against the wall is clearly the best way to combat dance floor phobia. Your secret is safe with me, I promise.” He may have winked, just a little. He may also have to smother himself with his pillow to get rid of the embarrassment caused by that horrible comeback. Louis doesn’t know where his game has gone but it is not on the premises, nowhere to be found. Needless to say he is not expecting it when the boy in front of him lets out a burst of laughter which is vaguely donkey-like and it should probably put Louis off, but at this point he’s not convinced anything will. He might watch this person kill a man and still not be strong enough to walk away. (The boy is fit. Louis has said this before but it bears repeating. He is really _really_ fit and Louis doesn’t have a type but if he did he thinks this boy fits it to a T. He is not only beautiful but also endearing and Louis is decidedly _not equipped to deal with this where is that water he needs it pronto._ )

Handsome Curly Stranger looks vaguely embarrassed about the sound that just came out of his own mouth and Louis thinks he might discern a mumbled apology, but it is mostly lost in the noise of the club.

“Also, m’name is not Curly,” is what he follows up with, which. Louis knew that, obviously. Before he has the chance to decide how best to ask for this stranger’s name, the gods see fit to gift it to him in the most unexpected way. (He is not dramatic, he swears up and down. Nobody ever seems to believe him.)

“Harry! Fancy meeting you here!” The outburst of Irish exuberance is enough to turn a few heads, and Louis winces and covers his ear which is absolutely not ringing the way he’s pretending it is, but. Drama major. Niall barely spares him a glance, only rolls his eyes and immediately turns back to Curly – _Harry_ , apparently and _how does Niall know this boy and why wasn’t Louis informed._

 “Whatcha doin’ talking to my mate Tommo, then? Didn’t know you two knew each other.” Somehow there seems to be an undercurrent of something knowing in Niall’s otherwise cheery voice, but Louis has quite frankly had too much to drink to even try and interpret that now.

“We don’t,” he says, with a Look meant to convey the thought he just had, but Niall either doesn’t understand or simply chooses to ignore it. And isn’t that just typical. Bloody Niall.

“Well in that case! Louis, Harry. Harry, Louis,” Niall intones with a bright, sunny grin on his face and a look at Harry which appears to be meaningful but Louis can’t decipher for the life of him. Harry seems to get it though, and looks down at his feet, cheeks stained pink. It is unfairly cute and Louis kind of wants to devour him. He also feels a little left out, like the conversation suddenly went a mile over his head. Rather than trying to make sense of it, he changes the subject.

“More importantly, Nialler, what are _you_ doing here? Aren’t you needed over at the bar? Fit bird, long brown hair, been chatting you up all night? Ring a bell?”

Niall manages to look somewhat serious with a giant smile on his face. It’s a talent, really.

“Nah mate, she had to leave. Had to take care of her friend. She insisted she could drink me under the table.” And _ouch_. That was a rookie mistake if ever Louis heard one. _Never_ challenge an Irishman to a drinking contest if you value your life and your liver. It’s just not gonna happen. And the worst part is that Niall, in addition to having godlike alcohol tolerance, seems to be impervious to hangovers. He’s always right as rain the next morning, chipper as a fucking… chipper person and there have been moments where Louis has legitimately wanted to _strangle him._ On the other hand, it’s hard to truly begrudge Niall anything. He’s like the literal definition of sunshine.

Really though, “You realize you basically just got cockblocked by your own Irish pride and insane alcohol tolerance? Congratulations Ni, you played yourself.”

To Louis’ astonishment, Niall just shrugs with a small smile. “Got her number though.”

And if he were any less drunk and more inclined to think about it, he might have taken offense to that, because _really._ The only reason Louis has been wasting time wallowing around in here is because Niall wasn’t ready to keep it in his pants, and now suddenly some girl has bewitched him and left him high and dry – but giddy. As it is, though, Louis _is_ slightly drunk and there is a very pretty Harry in front of him. Harry, who hasn’t said anything since Niall arrived and is still looking vaguely embarrassed and uncomfortable. And that just won’t stand, really.  He’s just turning to face him when Niall makes himself scarce again, muttering something about finding the loo. Louis’ not too bothered to be honest. Before he can think of something to say to continue the conversation, Harry chimes in to fill the silence between them.

“Niall was in my photography class last semester.  ‘S how we know each other.”

And that makes sense, doesn’t it. Louis is well aware that his roommate took a photography class, having been wheedled into modelling for one of Niall’s projects. If he had been surprised that Niall would be into such things, it comes as no great shock that the curly lad still standing in front of him would be an aspiring photographer. It just goes with the hipster vibe, somehow. That still doesn’t excuse Niall never having mentioned he was acquainted with Louis’ literal dream man. Words are going to be had, Louis decides.

But not right now, it seems, as Niall is coming back from the loo but just as he reaches them, the DJ announces that the club is closing. And _really_ , it’s only four o’clock, but as they’re walking out of the door into the chilly November night the tiredness sets in with all the subtlety of a freight train, and all Louis really wants to do is sleep for the next 24 hours. He wants to talk to Harry and get to know him and maybe snog him a little but really, Niall knows him and he probably has his number so. They’ll see each other again. Louis will make sure of it. And if, that night, he dreams of curly lads with giraffe limbs and sparkling green eyes, then nobody has to know.

 


End file.
